


The Bolt of Cupid Fell

by Marks



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, First Dates, Kissing, M/M, Shopping Malls, Valentine's Day, background edelthea, goths and preps, linhardt and ferdinand had a past party game hookup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks
Summary: Across the way, Ferdinand von Aegir, abercrombie's employee of the month five times in a row, beams at a customer and Hubert nearly bites his fist.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 27
Kudos: 329
Collections: Ferdibert Gang Valentine Flashbang





	The Bolt of Cupid Fell

**Author's Note:**

> the title is melodramatic (and from Shakespeare), but only because hubert is SO melodramatic in this. anyway, hubert works in hot topic, ferdinand works in abercrombie. you know you wanted this goth Hubert/preppy Ferdinand mall AU, deep down. or maybe that's just me.
> 
> art by @samshamrocks on Twitter who is AMAZING and had a VISION from the second i gave them the equivalent of a couple of crumpled notes and i'm just in AWE. you can see it [here](https://twitter.com/samshamrocks/status/1229824128200384514)!!
> 
> written for the ferdibert discord's valentine flashbang! thank you for running this!

“You’re staring again.” 

Edelgard emerges from a rack of Fortnite t-shirts, scaring Hubert out of his skin. Not that he admits that, of course. He just goes back to fixing the faux leather cuffs on the nearest mannequin and hums noncommittally. Edelgard is a great assistant manager and Hubert would follow her anywhere, but when she gets interested in something, she simply doesn’t know how to let it go. Again, usually a great quality of hers, but not so much when her current distraction is Hubert’s love life.

Or. Lack of it. Which is the problem.

Hubert sighs. “I’m just finishing the window display. You were the one who told me to do that.”

“Yes, and it looks great,” Edelgard says. “Goth Mandalorian is definitely going to bring in a lot of customers.”

“Thank you,” Hubert says, buffing his black nails on his shirt. He puffs up his chest.

“But,” Edelgard continues, because there’s always a _but_ , “you’ve also been done for thirty minutes, which isn’t a problem, like, performance-wise because the store is dead and you’re my best sales associate —”

“Like it’s hard being a better employee than Caspar and Linhardt,” Hubert interrupts.

“Hush,” she says, and he does. “The problem here is you’ve been staring into abercrombie for about twenty-eight of those thirty minutes.” Edelgard flips her bleached-platinum hair over her shoulder and waggles her perfectly-threaded eyebrows.

Hubert sighs again. It couldn’t have been twenty-eight minutes. That’s way too many minutes. Maybe two. Or three, even. Five, tops.

Across the way, Ferdinand von Aegir, abercrombie’s employee of the month five times in a row, beams at a customer and Hubert nearly bites his fist. The feeling of the warmth of the sun coming out from behind the clouds at seeing Ferdinand’s smile mixes with murderous intent; he stares at a woman who’s probably just buying a pastel cardigan, but who also has the absolute gall to _stand near Ferdinand_ , and also _smile back_ at him. 

Just before Ferdinand leads the customer away, his eyes flicker up and meet Hubert’s.

“Oh shit,” Hubert mutters. Edelgard snorts.

Then, improbably, Ferdinand’s smile widens.

Hubert forgets how to speak altogether. Edelgard reaches up, even though she’s a full foot shorter, and pats his shoulder comfortingly.

“Just ask him out already,” Edelgard says. “It’s almost Valentine’s Day!”

Hubert shakes his head and goes back to rearranging the display that doesn’t need rearranging. There’s no way.

*

Sitting in the food court, Hubert methodically disassembles an Auntie Anne’s pretzel, taking joy in ripping it into precise sections, until it’s a shadow of its former pretzel-y glory. He smiles at his work, pleased.

“I haven’t seen a vivisection like that since AP Biology,” someone interrupts, making Hubert look up. The new person sighs. “Edelgard got a higher grade than me in that class, if I recall correctly.”

Hubert falters for just a second, faced with Ferdinand von Aegir in all his glory, but he’s glad it’s just a second. He straightens up in his chair and gestures to the empty seat across from him. Ferdinand smiles his toothpaste-commercial smile and sinks into it.

“Of course you do,” Hubert says. “Edelgard got a higher grade than you in every class.”

Ferdinand’s smile turns a little rueful and he tucks a strand of hair that’s escaped its ponytail behind his ear. “Back then, I probably would have accused the professor of favoritism and got into an argument with you in the boys bathroom. I don’t know how you never punched me.”

Hubert puts half of his deconstructed pretzel onto another napkin and passes it over to Ferdinand. “I would have, if Edelgard hadn’t told me not to,” he admits. He lifts one arm and makes a sad bicep. “Though let’s be fair; if we ever fought with anything other than words, I would have been the one with the broken nose.”

“Don’t be so sure, Hubert,” Ferdinand says, crossing one long leg over the other and gesturing with a piece of pretzel. “You’re scrappy and I’m sure you fight dirty. I bet you could have taken me.”

“Yes, well.” Hubert clears his throat at Ferdinand’s unfortunate word choice and the vivid mental images they provide. “You might be right about that.”

High school had been a fraught time for Hubert, as it was for so many people. He knew he wasn’t unique in that. But in his senior year Hubert’s father had been instrumental in a hostile takeover of Edelgard’s father’s company, a company his family had been loyal to for decades. When coupled with both normal teenage angst and an ongoing crisis over his own sexuality, disaster was inevitable. It also didn’t help that the very root of that crisis was in Edelgard’s class and his own father had led that same takeover. The fact that Hubert seemed to provoke vicious arguments with Ferdinand whenever they were within a hundred feet of each other is something he could deconstruct _now_ , but he didn’t have that same capacity for self-reflection back then.

Anyway. They’d both mellowed out. And neither was on speaking terms with their fathers anymore, which probably explained away at least some of that.

“How are classes going?” Hubert asks, adjusting the studded bracelets on his wrists. He’s done now, complete with a degree he’ll never use and a couple of half-finished writing projects that only Edelgard has ever seen. It’s not weird that someone who’s just out of school is working at the mall, but while he never regrets breaking all ties to follow Edelgard, he can’t help that abject fear of failure like a bad taste on the back of his tongue. He’s sure this too is his father’s fault.

Ferdinand groans. “Don’t ask,” he says. He puts down his pretzel and sighs, meeting Hubert’s eyes. “Actually, do ask, I never talk about this with anyone. My mother has been secretly putting money in my accounts from her personal ones because I don’t qualify for financial aid, which is ridiculous. I’m an adult. Just because my father is rich as balls doesn’t mean I am.”

He won’t be rich forever, Hubert thinks. Edelgard has big ideas and a five-year plan. But he’ll tell Ferdinand about that some other time. 

Maybe. Probably. Almost definitely. 

It’s weird to think that Hubert wants to include Ferdinand von Aegir in their plans . Before Ferdinand started working at abercrombie, Hubert still thought of him as the enemy. When Ferdinand showed up across the mall with relief in his eyes and ten extra inches of hair, whatever was left of their rivalry died, the same way Hubert’s relationship with his father did the day he screwed over Edelgard’s family.

“But classes are fine. I’m doing well and thank whatever gods there are that I have an academic scholarship, too.”

Hubert nods, unsurprised. “I knew retail was just a stepping stone for you.”

Ferdinand tilts his head. “It isn’t for you?” he asks. Then, inexplicably, he looks down at the table. “I mean, all that black eye makeup really sets off your complexion, but I figured you were just waiting for Edelgard to graduate before the two of you go off to your next great adventure.”

There’s something strange about the tone of Ferdinand’s voice, a tightness to it that Hubert would call jealousy on anyone else. He’s heard it a couple of times when men have been interested in Edelgard – stuff about how brilliant his girlfriend is, how beautiful. Of course Edelgard _is_ beautiful, but the way Hubert thinks she’s beautiful isn’t the same as the guys that she’s rejected. And, of course, she’s very much not his girlfriend. But Hubert never got the impression that _Ferdinand_ thought of Edelgard like that. He’s going to have to overanalyze every single one of their interactions from the past decade now. At least that will help him with the heartbreak that he’s feeling right now.

Maybe. Probably. 

Definitely not.

He’s so caught up in his own reverie that he nearly misses it when Ferdinand starts speaking again. 

“—I know it’s short notice but I wanted to ask.” Ferdinand clears his throat and looks up, his cheeks pink. Ah. Fuck. That’s a good look for him. “Had to ask, really.”

Hubert blinks. “What?”

Ferdinand blinks back, the blush on his face deepening to an attractive red. “You can just say no, Hubert. It’s all right if you don’t think of me like that. But you only live once and I thought—” Ferdinand clears his throat. “Anyway. I promise I will not hold it against you.”

“I’m sorry,” Hubert says, and Ferdinand starts nodding rapidly, like that was the answer he expected, and starts to get up. Even though he’s confused, Hubert’s hand shoots out and wraps around Ferdinand’s wrist before he even realizes what he’s doing. “Don’t go. I spaced out for a second. What did you ask?”

Ferdinand laughs, relief evident in his tone. “I asked if you’re free for Valentine’s Day.”

Hubert’s fingers involuntarily tighten around Ferdinand’s wrist, keeping him there as his heart beats fast enough that blood pounds in his ears. He can’t ask Ferdinand to repeat himself _again_ , even if disbelief is the only feeling he’s experiencing right now. “Like a date?” Hubert says, his voice cracking on the last syllable.

“Yes! A date!” Ferdinand nearly shouts. It’s then that Hubert realizes how nervous he’s been since he arrived, how nervous he still must be. Hubert wants to laugh himself, but he doesn’t want Ferdinand to misinterpret his meaning. “With you and me. Us.” 

“Oh,” Hubert says softly. His grip loosens on Ferdinand’s wrist but he doesn’t let go. “Yeah. Yes,” he says more decisively. “I want that.”

“Oh!” Ferdinand echoes. He sounds surprised; Hubert doesn’t know why. The only surprising thing here is that Ferdinand — beautiful, confident, brilliant Ferdinand — asked him out in the first place. Did he really expect Hubert to say _no_? Then Ferdinand’s face melts into a brilliant smile. “Good! My break’s over so I have to get back to the store, but I’ll text you later.” He briefly closes his hand over Hubert’s on his wrist before pulling away and leaving, though he turns around and walks backward to smile at Hubert again. “I’m really looking forward to this!”

It takes Hubert a second to realize he’s smiling back. “Fuck,” he mutters. He’s so screwed.

* 

As promised, Ferdinand texts him that night. His texts are properly capitalized and punctuated, and very, very long and emoji-filled, but Hubert can’t help the way his heart thumps every time Ferdinand sends the next one. He asks four times if he’s really, truly sure if it’s okay that Ferdinand plans everything for them.

 _I must confess I have been thinking about this for a very long time,_ the last one reads, and Hubert has to go to bed right then and there because if he doesn’t, he’ll die on the spot.

“You’re so dramatic,” Linhardt tells him the next day. Hubert and Edelgard thought he was asleep with his head on the counter and hadn’t even realized he’d overheard their conversation. “But I suppose you could do worse than Ferdinand. He’s a decent kisser.”

“What?” Edelgard and Hubert say in unison, Edelgard delighted and Hubert — unfortunately — murderous.

Linhardt shrugs and lifts his head slowly, like it hurts him just to make an effort. “We were at a party once a couple of years ago and I was dared.” He waves his hand vaguely. “You know how it is. He looked very surprised, and then he was pretty into it. Soft lips. I bet he uses lip balm.” Then Linhardt smiles, cat-like, the expression only amplified by the store-approved thin leather collar that loops around his throat. “Maybe I was his sexual awakening! You should be thanking me, Hubert.”

“I will do no such thing,” Hubert says, dignified, but it’s his turn to eavesdrop when Edelgard pounces on Linhardt and makes her tell him if Ferdinand used his tongue. He’s not sure if he’s dismayed or thrilled when the answer is yes.

“Well, I approve,” Edelgard says, hand thoughtfully to her chin as she acknowledges Hubert again. “Linhardt, I’m putting you and Caspar on the schedule to close on Valentine’s Day. Hubert has the night off.”

Linhardt groans. “Working? Ugh.”

Edelgard shrugs. “Consider it payback for kissing the love of Hubert’s life.”

“That’s surely overstating the case,” Hubert protests.

“Enjoy your night off!” Edelgard says cheerfully, ignoring him.

*

Edelgard kicks open the door to Hubert’s bedroom at six o’clock on Valentine’s Day — not an exaggeration, she actually kicks it open. She’s freakishly strong for such a tiny woman; Hubert has no doubt that if the door had been locked, her steel-toed boots would have taken that sucker right off its hinges. He doesn’t know what she would have done if they didn’t share an apartment. Taken an axe to the deadlock, maybe. Or a chainsaw.

“What are you wearing?” Edelgard barks.

Hubert looks down at his black Misfits t-shirt and ripped black jeans and says, tentatively, “This?”

Edelgard narrows her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. “Where’s he taking you?”

Hubert shrinks away a little. He’s not scared of Edelgard, ever, really, and honestly there are few things he enjoys more than watching her make someone cower, but it’s so rarely directed at him that he can’t help flinching. “To his place,” he says finally.

That makes Edelgard tilt her head. “Really?” she says, and lets out a low whistle. “Good job, Ferdinand.”

“It doesn’t _mean_ anything,” Hubert insists.

“It probably _could_ , if you weren’t you,” Edelgard says. She flicks her hair over her shoulder. “But still, showing off his place on the first date is a pretty good indicator that he’s serious about you. Also the whole asking you out on Valentine’s Day thing. So, he’s picking you up here just to take you back to his apartment?”

“He didn’t want me to get lost finding the place,” Hubert mumbles.

Edelgard laughs, throaty and loud. “Like you’ve ever gotten lost in your life. It’s like you were born with built-in GPS and the only person who knows that better than Ferdinand is me. God, you both have it bad.”

Hubert picks at a loose thread on his bedspread. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Edelgard says confidently. “Anyway, change into your other jeans — the ones without the hole in the knee. They’re tighter and show off what little ass you have.”

“ _Edelgard_ ,” Hubert hisses, scandalized.

“And I’ll do your makeup now. I have to leave before Ferdinand shows up, which is too bad because I would have made you take a picture, prom-style, in front of the couch before you left otherwise.”

Hubert doesn’t dignify that with a response, though the mental image of Ferdinand’s strong arms looped around him from behind as Edelgard takes too many pictures with her phone flits through his head. “Where will you be?” he asks instead.

“Oh, you know the girl who works at Lush who has that YouTube channel where she sings opera?”

Now it’s Hubert’s turn to look smug. “Yes, I know her,” he says. “And I know her name’s Dorothea. You’ve talked about how knowledgeable she is about bath products for months, like you’ve ever shown any interest in glitter bath bombs before she started working there.”

“I like skin care.”

“Sure you do,” Hubert says, happy that the tables have turned. “Caspar asked me if you were dating her yesterday. _Caspar_. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

Edelgard walks over to the bed and flicks Hubert’s forehead. “You’re one to talk, Mister ‘I hear forest green is big for spring.’ How much of your wardrobe is black?”

“Some is grey,” Hubert protests. “I think I own a red shirt.”

“Don’t wear the red. It’ll probably clash with his hair,” Edelgard says, distracted. She walks over to Hubert’s dresser and grabs some of his makeup. “But now that I’m thinking about it, maybe change into something without a skull on the front. Don’t kill the romance before it even starts.”

Hubert hopes he has something without a skull on it that’s clean, but he endures it when Edelgard comes back and makes him swing his legs over the side of his bed to stare up at her as she expertly applies thick lines of liquid eyeliner and dark shimmery eyeshadow to his eyelids. He has pretty eyes — he knows that, his only genuinely pretty feature, and he doesn’t mind Edelgard doing what she can to emphasize that. He does, however, put his foot down when she wants to draw in his eyebrows, and she rejects his suggestion of black lipstick 

“Do you want that smeared all over Ferdinand’s face? Or anywhere else?” she asks, like there’s really any chance of that happening. Anyway, Hubert knows Edelgard only says that because she likes knowing how to make him blush, and of course she succeeds at that. She is really, truly good at everything she sets her brilliant mind to.

When Edelgard is done and Hubert has changed into a plain long-sleeved black t-shirt — no skulls! — and the aforementioned tighter jeans, he finally takes a look at himself in the mirror. As a rule, Hubert doesn’t like to look at himself, but this isn’t bad. Edelgard is something of a wonder with an eyeliner pencil, just like she’s a wonder with everything. He adds a couple of thick leather bracelets and attaches a silver cuff to the shell of one ear and deems himself… acceptable. 

Not good enough for Ferdinand, of course, but Ferdinand looks like he stepped off the cover of a magazine. Very few people are good enough for Ferdinand, really, and yet he asked Hubert out. Perplexing. Also perplexing is the flutter of his heart inside his chest as he realizes Ferdinand will be here soon. If someone were to tell the preteens who loiter in the store that Hubert is nervous about a date to the point that he can’t control his heartbeat, they’d probably be shocked to learn that his heart isn’t black and shriveled. 

But no. Hubert’s heart beats true. He’s the same as anyone else who wants to fumble through romance, but has no idea how to do so.

Hubert gets a text from Ferdinand, letting him know that he’s downstairs. As he buzzes him into the apartment building, another sudden burst of nerves works through his system. Will they have anything to talk about? Is the date a mistake? Is the apartment too small? 

Oh sweet fuck, Hubert is being ridiculous. Why the hell would Ferdinand care about that? They’re not even staying there.

“Get a grip, Vestra,” Hubert tells himself as he opens the door.

The first thing Hubert sees isn’t Ferdinand, but two dozen dark-red roses, the same color as blood from a freshly opened wound. Apt. Hubert isn’t a flower person, really, but he can see why Ferdinand thought of him when he saw them.

“Thank you?” Hubert says as he takes the bouquet, cradling them like the world’s worst pageant queen.

“It’s okay if you hate them!” Ferdinand says. “I was just taught never to show up anywhere empty-handed and it’s a hard habit to break.” He laughs then — too bright, too loud, and Hubert wonders how much of what he thought was bluster back in their befuddling school days was a cover-up for good old awkwardness. A blossom of warmth and regret opens and unfurls in Hubert’s chest, a blood-red rose of his own design, and he realizes once again how very, very screwed he is.

“I don’t hate them.” Hubert puts the flowers down on the kitchen counter and looks at them for a moment. They really are pretty, as far as flowers go, but the fact that Ferdinand saw them and bought them for no reason other than to give Hubert a gift is messing him up far more than it should. So few people think of Hubert ever, let alone with positive thoughts. Never romantic ones. “But I don’t have anything for you.”

“Oh, I didn’t expect that!” says Ferdinand, and now without the roses blocking the way, Hubert can finally get a look at him. He’s dressed up more than Hubert is, but he usually is. He has on dark chinos and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing a lot of freckled forearm, and a jacket thrown over his arm. His hair is pulled back, but a few unruly tendrils have escaped to attractively frame his face. Hubert lets out a slow breath, taking in all of him. He’s barely keeping it together when they’re across the room from each other, and he’s supposed to survive a whole evening at Ferdinand’s apartment? Nope, no way, never going to happen.

Edelgard’s stern face and disappointed voice fill his head then. _Are you going to settle for staring out display windows, or are you going to throw him up against the wall and have your way with him the way you’ve wanted for months?_

Well. Neither, Hubert tells himself. But he supposes he can be a bit braver.

Hubert crosses the room, pushing up one of his sleeves as he goes. “You weren’t the only one raised like that,” he reminds Ferdinand, undoing one of his leather bracelets and noting with some amazement that Ferdinand swallows as he tracks Hubert’s movements. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one with a gift.”

With that, he reaches for Ferdinand’s hand, tugging it up so he can tie his bracelet around Ferdinand’s wrist.

“I can’t take this,” Ferdinand says, but he doesn’t pull away as Hubert turns his hand over to secure the bracelet in place. 

“You can. They’re seven dollars on clearance.” 

When he’s done, Hubert lifts his head to peer at Ferdinand from underneath his bangs and finds Ferdinand staring at him again, a smile tugging at his lips, which makes Hubert want to smile back. Instead, he impulsively runs one finger down the center of Ferdinand’s palm. Of course he’s warm there — he must be warm everywhere — but the touch still makes Hubert shiver.

“Hubert!” Ferdinand blurts out, half-shouting even though they’re only a couple inches apart. “You look very nice tonight.” This is softer, nearly reverent. Hubert doesn’t understand what he’s done to make Ferdinand act like this around him, to look at him like he’s something special, but he doesn’t dislike it.

“You, too,” Hubert manages. His grip briefly tightens around Ferdinand’s wrist before he lets go again and he quickly continues, “You always do.”

Ferdinand lifts his arm to admire his new bracelet, something of Hubert’s given new life in his possession, and in this moment, Hubert would gladly let Ferdinand plunge his fist into Hubert’s chest and yank out his heart. Actually, that might make a pretty cool display for next Valentine’s Day.

“Shall we get going?” Ferdinand asks.

Hubert nods, not trusting his own voice, and grabs his best leather jacket from the hall closet.

*

Hubert steps into the apartment and looks all around.

“Ferdinand, what the hell?”

“It’s not much, I know,” Ferdinand says as he takes Hubert’s jacket, and Hubert can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes at that ridiculous notion. 

Ferdinand’s apartment isn’t big, but that’s not the issue; Hubert laughs because Ferdinand went to so much trouble for him. For _him_. The lights are dim, a small round table in the space in between the open layout of Ferdinand’s kitchen and living room is covered in a white tablecloth and two unlit candles, and everywhere, absolutely everywhere, are petals from those blood red roses.

“You hate it,” Ferdinand says. He doesn’t even sound surprised, like he’s used to disappointing people. Hubert doesn’t want to make him sound like that ever again.

“I don’t hate it,” Hubert assures him. “I just didn’t think anyone would go to so much trouble for me.”

Ferdinand’s face breaks into a blinding smile at that. “I would get into much more trouble than this for you, Hubert.”

Cupid and his arrow have always struck Hubert as sort of a bloody take on love, violent in a way that the lofty ideals of romance aren’t supposed to be. But looking at Ferdinand lighting the candles on the table and bustling around his kitchen to heat up the dinner he prepared for them, Hubert finally gets why a person might wax poetic about an arrow piercing their heart.

A little while later, they’re seated at that small table, and Hubert’s glass is filled with a deep red wine that’s fruity but not too sweet. Not surprising Ferdinand has good taste in wine; Hubert will have to be careful not to indulge too deeply because Ferdinand’s presence makes him pretty dizzy. Dinner is some chicken thing with roasted vegetables; they’ve come a long way from shared pretzels in the food court.

“Did you make this?” Hubert asks.

Ferdinand laughs, a little self-consciously. “It’s the only thing I know how to cook, other than toast and eggs,” he says. “I learned from one of our teachers back at school. They tried out a lot of recipes with me. This was the only thing that stuck.”

“It’s good,” Hubert says, because it is, but the truth is he’d be impressed if it was a burned mess. He’s still in amazement over getting along so well with his former rival now. Even if his younger self could accept that Ferdinand von Aegir wasn’t _that_ difficult on the eyes, he doubts he’d believe Hubert telling him there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. But it’s the truth. He takes a long drink of wine and lets out a longer breath, steeling himself. “I’m really glad you asked me over,” he says.

“Oh,” Ferdinand says, looking down at his plate, a small, pleased smile creeping across his face. “I have wanted to ask you out for a long, long time. I was afraid of you saying no.” He looks up, and the smile seems a bit rueful. “I was also afraid of you saying yes.”

Hubert tilts his head. “Why, because you’d have to put the dark red roses industry out of business?”

Ferdinand laughs, surprised. “Hubert!” he admonishes.

“Ferdinand,” Hubert says back, “only a fool would turn you down.” He reaches across the table and takes Ferdinand’s hand, the brush of their fingers electric. “I have been a fool in the past, and I’m sure I’ll be one in the future, but for this one thing —” Hubert rubs his thumb back and forth against Ferdinand’s warm skin. “— I am not.”

“When we were back at school, I think it’s obvious that I was jealous of Edelgard,” Ferdinand says all in a rush. “She was born with a confidence that I only pretended to have. And then I was jealous of you, too, for your closeness. I didn’t have anyone like that, and looking back on it, I was also jealous of Edelgard being close to _you_. A lot of people thought you were together, at least back then, and every time someone suggested it, I would feel like my chest was on fire.”

“Edelgard is the most important person in my life,” Hubert says honestly, “but we have never been like that.”

“I have since gathered that, but it was none of my business either way. Then when my father… and your father… did such terrible things, I was horrified. My father tried to tell me that was just how the business world worked, and that was the end of my jealousy. What remained was only guilt.”

“It’s not your fault your father is an asshole, any more than it’s my fault that mine is.” What Hubert doesn’t say is it took him years to accept that about himself. But that doesn’t matter. He knows Ferdinand is “That was a long time ago. Why are you telling me this now?”

Ferdinand shrugs. “If we are to continue this thing between us, then it is only right that you should know.” He pauses to take a drink of his wine. “So. Would you like to continue?”

“More than I can say,” Hubert says, “but I have to tell you something first.” 

And so Hubert, for the first time in his life, opens up to someone about his and Edelgard’s plans. He tells Ferdinand about how they’ll take down their fathers’ empire, and build something new in its stead. Edelgard and Hubert don’t want the family business, but they don’t want things to continue how they are. They want to burn everything down until all that’s left is cinders and ash. One day working retail in the mall will be distant history, and they’ll be free. It’s all Hubert has ever wanted. 

What happens after that? Who knows. But they are on that path, come hell or high water.

When Hubert is done, Ferdinand’s eyes are wide and they’re both rather breathless. “I am with you, Hubert,” Ferdinand says, “in any manner you see fit.”

“That is a loaded statement,” Hubert says and drains his glass. He sets it back down with a thump and rises from his seat, rounding the table to take Ferdinand by the hands and tug him to his feet. “I’m glad to hear it.”

This way, they are very close together, closer than they even were when Hubert tied the bracelet onto Ferdinand’s wrist. A blush stains Ferdinand’s freckled face again, from the wine or the proximity, Hubert couldn’t say. It doesn’t matter. Ferdinand pulls one of his hands from Hubert’s and lifts it so slowly that Hubert swears he can feel the ground shifting beneath his boots. The tides change. The moon rises higher in the night sky. All of the stars travel a bit further along their predestined paths. And Ferdinand threads his fingers through Hubert’s hair, nails dragging against his scalp. 

It takes everything in Hubert not to groan. Instead his eyes slide shut, which only doubles the feeling — triples it — makes everything ripple upon itself. He’s so wrapped up in this ridiculous notion that he nearly misses Ferdinand’s enticing heat coming closer still.

Nearly. But not quite.

Ferdinand’s mouth is as warm as the rest of him, a hot brand that has already left its mark on Hubert. Now, with Ferdinand kissing him, Hubert can no longer hold back his groan and he wraps his arms around to clutch at Ferdinand’s back. He’s been kissed a few times before, but those kisses were nothing like this — nothing like this shivering, all-encompassing want that feels too big for Hubert’s body to contain.

Do some people feel like this all the time? It’s a wonder that the human race has managed to continue with this surplus of emotion. 

But still, Hubert yearns for more, wants it the way some customers do limited edition merchandise. Ferdinand von Aegir is an original and, somehow, he might be Hubert’s.

They part and just stare at each other for a moment, sharing breath, sharing space. It’s a wonder they exist right at this time, right in this moment, and together.

“Wow,” says Ferdinand, “I think my knees might give out.”

“Yes,” Hubert agrees. 

“Well,” Ferdinand says, lifting his chin, “if it’s true for both of us, why don’t we move this to the couch?”

Hubert agrees again.

*

The next day at work, Edelgard is full of questions and only stops when Hubert asks for all the details of her date with the singing Lush sales associate. Pouting, she walks off to wake Linhardt up from where he’s sleeping at the register. Hubert sighs because he knows that if she pouts at him again in ten minutes, he’ll spill everything. She’s his best friend and he’s a pushover for her.

Last night was nothing short of amazing, a makeout session so intense that Hubert still has beard burn now. His memory is hazy, dream-like, and it’s only the enthusiastic _Good morning! Let us do that again!_ text he got this morning that convinces him that he didn’t simply sleep through Valentine’s Day. Hubert sighs again. He’s afraid he has turned into a romantic.

Caspar is tangled up in the remnants of Hubert’s Disney display, tripping over a stack of horror movie t-shirts. A lime-green feather boa is looped around his neck and a green-sequined hat is perched on top of his blue hair.

“What are you doing?” Hubert asks.

“New window time!” Caspar explains, his volume turned up to eleven, as always. “I’m thinking a leprechaun dressed up in a shirt from cult classic, _Leprechaun_!”

Hubert tilts his head thoughtfully. “Not bad,” he admits. He takes some of the shirts from Caspar and walks over to the window. Across the way, abercrombie is changing their display, too. Ferdinand von Aegir is standing at its center, a stack of clothes draped over one arm. He cranes his neck as he stares out across the way, looking for something, for someone. When his eyes land on Hubert, he stops searching and grins, and when he lifts his hand in greeting, Hubert smiles and waves back.

Ferdinand’s eyes seem to be saying _found you_ , and Hubert can’t help but agree.

**Author's Note:**

> follow [me](https://twitter.com/nonnonnegative) or [sam](https://twitter.com/samshamrocks) on twitter, especially if you're into these two, because we sure as heck are.


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